My Flamingo
by redisthenewblackington
Summary: This is a fluffy and nostalgic AU crossover between The Blacklist and Boston Legal. There's no Tom Keen or Bond. It takes place after completion of Red's list, and he's reconnected with an old friend, a lawyer, to ensure that his immunity deal remains iron-clad. There's no Lizzie in the first chapter, but it's gonna be Lizzington, for sure! I'm really making an effort to keep
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I'm in no way connected to The Blacklist, and I'm not profiting from this story.

Chapter one:

"DENNY! You old fat cat." Red boomed, arms open, before pulling his old friend into a hearty embrace. "I see you won't be fitting into your Navy Blues again anytime soon."

Poking a finger into Red's ribs, Denny grinned. "Just wait until you're my age. Think you'll want to cut back on the Scotch and cigars anytime soon? You're looking at your future, my friend. Denny Crane. Fat and happy."

"Denny, where's your old Ruger? You never go anywhere without it."

"You're still a sneaky sonofabitch, Raymond. And here I thought that was only a hug. Shirley hates it." In a lowered voice, he added, "I've got it strapped to my ankle."

Red grinned. "My flamingo." Then added, "Speaking of Shirley, how is the old battle ax? The kids? Tell me I won't want to wrestle you for her again."

"Don't start with me, Raymond. Shirley Schmidt will always be off-limits. She's a goddess. She's MY goddess."

"She didn't take your name."

"Of course not! Can you imagine the power of SHIRLEY CRANE? The world would tremble and collapse."

"She refused."

"Damn right. Did you expect differently?"

Red smiled fondly. "Never."

"Oh, the kids! You remember Donnie. I just made him partner. You know, I'm proud of the little pinko. We're changing the signs tomorrow. Crane, Schmidt, and Crane."

"Perfect."

"Sebastian's at Harvard Law, now. Blood of my blood, that one. Shirley thought we were too old. My legacy is ageless! The boy's gonna be president, Raymond. I can feel it."

"I'll have to hire someone else to cast it, but he has my vote."

"Of course."

"I thought you had a daughter."

"Yes." He paused. "Just the one. Elise."

"And?" implored Red

"She really took after Shirley. Orange of my eye. A firey lefty social worker. And you will NOT believe this..."

Dismissing his urge to tell him that it's apple, Red pressed "My breath is baited, Denny. Out with it."

Denny was beaming. "I'm gonna be a grandpa!"

"That's wonderful news! Congratulations! We'll have to discuss our business with cigars instead of waiting until after." Reaching into his inner coat pocket, he pulled out a small and well-worn, leather-bound cigar case. Proffering one to his friend, he said, "The finest that money can buy, and suitable for the many momentous aspects of this day."

"Come, Raymond. You'll love what I've done with the balcony."

Red smiled. "Lead the way, my friend."


	2. Chapter 2

Chaper two

There wasn't a single cloud over Boston. The sun shone brightly despite the chill of the breeze rolling in from the harbor. The city seemed to sparkle, and Denny was right. Raymond did love what he did with the balcony: not a damn thing.

Seeming to read Red's thoughts, Denny interrupted the comfortable silence. "I was never one to disturb perfection."

"No?"

"No."

Closing the last page of Red's lengthy immunity contract, Denny let out an exasperated sigh. The paperwork was flawless, and he knew that Red already knew this.

"Raymond."

"Denny?"

"Tell me why you're really here."

"For all the work I've done for the FBI.. hell, for this country, some powerful people still want me behind bars. It would be foolish to not get a second opinion, because this is my second chance, Denny, and I don't intend to squander it."

"Of course, but sti-"

Red cut him off. "Surely you understand the gravity of the situation. If this fails, I can only run or go to prison. I'm tired of running, Denny. I want to finally rest. I want the luxury of solitary moments without looking over my own shoulder, and with the knowledge that there will be many more to come. And I want her t-"

This time, he cut himself off. That was a mistake. His relationship with Lizzie was a well-kept secret. Was. They would go public soon, but not until he was officially cleared of his nearly-countless charges. Not until it was safe for her, and damnit, it wasn't safe yet. Denny won't let this one go. Raymond was sure of it.

He could just leave now. He doesn't have to give up anything else. Why not stand up and go? Just stand up. Just stand.. Stand. Stand!

Oh, hell. He's missed this. The view of the Boston skyline, scotch in one hand, cigar in the other, and Denny. Friendships never came easily to Red, but he and Denny were synced so comfortably, as if they were never apart. He could finally admit to himself how much he had missed this, and this too was a second chance that he couldn't squander.

"Who is she, Raymond? Who's your second chance? Tell me about her."

"SHE is besides the point, Denny. That's my freedom, right there, in your hands."

"Your evasive attitude is as infuriating as ever."

Lizzie wouldn't want him to lose a friend over this. Lizzie would want to meet him someday. But... would she want him to out them now? If so, how will he protect her? Will he even have to? Red detests uncertainty. It's one of the most effective means of torture.

Denny was openly staring at him now, both imploring and annoyed. Digging in with his mental spurs, his mind was racing.

Think fast, Reddington.


	3. Chapter 3

3

Back in Spotsylvania, Virginia, Elizabeth was spending a much-needed day astride her beloved horse, Hudson. At 16 hands, the coal black gelding is unusually tall for an Arabian, and Liz relished the view from his saddle.

It's hard to believe he's the same horse seized from the abandoned property of a blacklister just three years ago. He was skinny and lame, but when Liz found him in that tiny paddock, he immediately approached her with a soft knicker. "Hey buddy. Are you alright?" Liz spoke softly, offering her palm for him to smell. His whiskers tickled her hardened scar, and she immediately fell in love.

As a kid, Sam enrolled her in a horseback riding camp for eight weeks every summer, but it had been over a decade since the last time she rode. A sudden rush of memories struck her, and hard. She hopped the fence. When Red found her, she had her arms around the colt's neck, sobbing into his thick and tangled mane.

He silently watched the pair from afar, sensing how much she needed that moment alone with the horse. Even to his untrained eye, it was obvious that the horse needed her, too. He made a decision without deliberation. The ragged colt would never see an auction block, and Red would never have to tear Lizzie away from him.

Later that night, exhausted and elated, Liz kissed Red for the very first time.

She couldn't help smiling at the memory. That was their true beginning.

Hudson is boarded at one of Red's safe houses, a huge farm only a few miles from Interstate 95. Lizzie stays in the guest cottage whenever Red is away. From there, her commute to work is over an hour, but it's worth it.

Red never really cared for horses, but he likes to accompany Lizzie to the farm whenever he can. The secluded acres have become a sanctuary for their secrets. To Red, Lizzie has always been the most beautiful creature he has ever seen, but there are two places where she literally takes his breath away. The first, of course, is writhing hot, astride or beneath him, illuminated by the moonlight in Hempstead's living room. The second is astride a galloping Hudson, a blur of wind-whipped hair with an impossibly huge grin. Only Hudson can produce that grin, and only Red gets to see it. He leans against the fence in his three piece suits and watches her ride, breathless and spell-bound, as often as his schedule allows.

Liz is exhausted from work, but her solo rides are meditative. This is where she unwinds. This is where she can either think in peace or silence her mind with Hudson's even, rhythmic hoofbeats. She used to run, but now, she rides.

"This is so much better!" She says aloud, to no one. Then, tightening the reins and leaning back slightly, she cues Hudson to slow to a walk.

"Do you think Red is having a good time reconnecting with Denny?" she playfully asks Hudson, checking her watch. "He'll probably call soon."


	4. Chapter 4

4

The tension was palpable. Red gazed far off into the distance while Denny continued to stare at him, waiting for him to speak.

Finally, Red cut through the silence, with a single word. "Denny..." He knew he couldn't lie to his friend, but he just wasn't ready for this conversation. Not yet. He'll find the middle ground. Surely Denny will understand.

He paused before continuing. "It wasn't my intention to discuss her. I can't. Not yet. But Denny... I will. Before I leave, I will. Let me talk to her first. I know this doesn't make sense to you now, but you can trust me."

It didn't escape Denny that Red was parroting his own line back at him, but he knew he wouldn't make it any further. This wasn't supposed to be an interrogation. He could either take it or leave it.

Resigned, Denny nodded. He decided to take it.

"Raymond, how long since you've had L'Espalier? I have ressies for 8:30 tonight. Join me?"

A smile slowly crept up Red's cheeks. "At least a century! Perhaps even more. I'd be delighted."

Both men turned their heads at the whooshing sound of the sliding glass door opening. "Raymond, it has been too long." Shirley Schmidt stepped out, and onto the balcony. Gone was her long, wavy blonde hair. Now, it's silver, shoulder-length, and straight. It frames her face perfectly and serves to highlight her amethyst eyes.

Good god, Shirley Schmidt. She's as dignified and resplendent as ever.

Red wasted no time, rushing over to take her hand, softly kiss it, and tell her so. They exchanged sly, conspiratorial smiles.

"Watch it there, tiger." Denny growled.

Red and Shirley's flirtation was only in jest, intentionally at Denny's expense. It was an old dance they gleefully revisited, dating back to the days when Denny pined for her and she played Hard To Get.

She had little interest in Red, even back then, though truth be told, she'd more than once entertained the idea of bedding the younger, handsome man, just for the thrill. She could have taught him a thing or two. Every woman in her wake would have been unknowingly in her debt.

They chuckled at Denny's indignation.

Yes, Shirley thought to herself. She had been right to not follow through with that notion. Raymond is wearing the hell out of that three piece suit, but his life had been a complicated one. Sleeping with him would have likely caused her to care for him more, in spite of herself. That charmer. That virile, enigmatic criminal. She could see that he'd made time to have a little work done, but who among them had not? Shirley ruefully shook her head at herself, returning to the moment and the conversation at hand.

Red purred, "Tell me, do you still have that cheerleader skirt?"

"Well.." Shirley began to reply, but Denny cut her off.

"NO, Raymond. I have it, and I'm not loaning it out to you again!" His eyes narrowed for a moment, but he couldn't hold the bluff. He sputtered and doubled over, guffawing.

Red playfully slapped his shoulder as both he and Shirley joined in, laughing loud and hard.

Shirley recovered first. "Just imagine the trouble we would have gotten into if you had stuck around, Raymond."

"We would have burned this city to the ground. You, too, would be felons."

"Oh, please." Denny scoffed. "I'd get us all off. Denny Crane!" Then he chuckled. "Don't misunderstand me. That wasn't a double entrée."

Shirley huffed, "It's double entendre, you meatball." She turned her shoulder toward the door.

"No, I told you it wasn't."

Shirley and Red's eyes met and rolled.

"Just so you know, I'm not really a felon. I've never been convicted of anything."

"Of course." said Shirley. "Anyway, I need to go meet with a new client. Raymond, it's truly wonderful to see you. I hope to catch you again before you depart."

"It would be my pleasure, Shirley." Red winked at her and waved. When her back was turned, he made a show of watching her leave, all leering eyes and wicked smile.

And with another whoosh of the door, Denny and Red were alone again.

"Denny, you know I'd never really..."

"Oh, I know that you wanted to. You tried."

"I did, but only in sport. I knew she'd never let me. She wanted you."

"Denny Crane!"

"Indeed."

"So... L'Espalier! Excellent. I'm due in court in an hour. Can you believe Hooper is still on the bench? He's practically a fossil.." Denny seemed to have lost his train of thought.

"Ah. Anyway, why don't you go back to your hotel and rest up a bit? Call your mysterious second chance. Talk it over, but know this: I won't let you off the hook! I'll send a town car for you at 8."

"Are they still the best in Back Bay?"

"Would we go there otherwise?"

Red shook his head. "No, we wouldn't."

"Of course, it will be too chilly to dine on the patio, but if you'd like, perhaps we can enjoy a few drinks out there after."

"In Loro Piana Storm System cashmere and your company, I can enjoy anything."

"Flamingoes forever."

The men embraced. Still holding on, Denny turned his head and whispered in Red's ear. "But no sleepover. Don't even ask!"

Red huffed and rolled his eyes.

Stepping back inside, Red pulled out his cell phone and rang Dembe, asking him to bring the car around. He then turned toward Denny and cocked his head to the side. "See you at 8:30."

-...-...-...-

Red slouched down in the back of his late model Mercedes, lost in thought.

The Mandarin, his preferred lodging in Boston, was only a few blocks from Denny's 500 Boylston law firm. It seemed a waste to drive the short distance. Why not walk? See the city from the ground? If she were here, Lizzie wouldn't let him get away with it. Red chastised himself for his laziness. He knows that because of her, he's a better man.

As if on cue, to add to Red's spot of guilt, his sweet tooth began misbehaving. He couldn't ignore it. Like thirst, it would only cease by being sated.

Gelato. Pistachio gelato. He absolutely had to have it.

And it will hurt. It always does. Like most painful things, he finds that it's worth it.

"Dembe, I apologize for the change of plans. Would you care for some gelato?"

Red watched his loyal friend and bodyguard's reaction through the rear view mirror. Flashing his bright white teeth, clearly pleased, Dembe replied, "Certainly, Raymond. Where to?"

Red's response needed no consideration. He has a favorite hole in the wall for each imaginable type of cuisine. It was no coincidence that his favorite for gelato is in Boston.

"Caffé Paradiso, in the North End. Hanover Street."

Paradiso is a small cafe, founded by and passed down three generations of the DeStefano family. Its prime location in Little Italy, near the end of The Freedom Trail, made it an afternoon hotspot for weary-footed tourists. In fact, that's exactly how Red discovered it, with his daughter, Jenny, many years ago.

In addition to their custom-blend coffee and espresso, Paradiso offers wine and spirits, and an ample selection of authentic Italian deserts. They boast of having the best cannoli in Boston. Best of all, to Red and his daughter, is their homemade artisan gelato. They make over a dozen flavors, and he's tried them all. Pistaschio was Jenny's favorite, and that's why it's his, now. He eats it for her because she can't. He savors each bite, for her, and his heart aches with every swallow.

After seating themselves, Red ordered a Castello Banfi grappa to accompany his gelato. Dembe chose an iced espresso with stracciatella gelato. The tiny cafe was full of resident Italians, cheering and enthralled by a soccer game playing on several mounted television sets. Red hardly noticed them.

Jenny.

Lizzie.

Denny.

Jenny. Jenny. Jenny.

Lizzie. Lizzie. Lizzie.

Denny.

He can't believe he slipped, with Denny.

Hopefully Lizzie will be understanding of his blunder. Would she become angry? Maybe she'll want Red to tell him. She had previously expressed her desire to let the cat out of the bag, at the Post Office, but she wasn't serious. She simply finds it difficult to maintain the professional charade of personal indifference to him.

He's more than acquainted with the struggle. It isn't easy for him, either.

Lizzie peppers her professional wardrobe with red accessories, for him. Red nail polish. A red cashmere scarf. Red leather flats. A red wool coat. The ruby earnings he gave her on Valentines Day. She's discreet. She never wears more than one red item at a time. And she's never mentioned it, but Red knows that she does it for him. It makes his blood pump, seeing those silent and striking odes to him. He loves knowing that she wants him so much that she can't contain it fully. He often imagines that every non-red article of clothing has vanished, and she's staring at him in invitation from across the war room.

That simple expression of Lizzie's love takes his mind to places that are utterly inappropriate for work. He loves her so much that he feels it bursting inside of his chest and radiating off of every pore in his body. It's truly a wonder that they're able to accomplish anything outside of his myriad temporary bedrooms... or her bedroom... or the late Hempstead's living room... or her kitchen... or her shower... or his myriad temporary showers... or literally every room of the guest cottage where Hudson is boarded...

Red fully understands how the maintenance of their secret relationship can be difficult for Lizzie.

He'll call her as soon as he's settled in at The Hotel Mandarin. He'll explain his slip with Denny.

Hopefully, she'll be understanding of how difficult it is for him, too.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I own neither Boston Legal nor The Blacklist.

Please forgive the terrible delay on my update. I haven't abandoned this one.

Chapter 5

Back at The Mandarin, Dembe and Red returned to their adjoining suites. Red immediately hit the mini bar, and was pacing from door to window, a tumbler of scotch in hand. This was the side of Red that was seldom seen. Behind the stoic, fast-talking facade was a man who brooded behind closed doors, thinking and rethinking over the multitude of ways he could approach even the slightest of confrontations.

He sighed heavily, picking up the phone.

Lizzie answered on the third ring.

"Red! Hi. How's Boston? Have you had a chance to catch up with Denny, yet? I've missed you." She was shamelessly gushing. She really had missed him.

It felt so good to hear her voice.

"I've missed you, too."

He should just say it. He was making mountains of molehills, and he knew it.

"Sweetheart, it's been wonderful seeing Denny again. We're having dinner tonight at 8:30. There's something I need to tell you though. I've made a bit of a mistake."

"Okay, I'm listening." Lizzie hoped she didn't sound anxious.

He took a deep breath.

"I slipped a bit when answering Denny's questions about why I needed him to look over my deal. He felt that its perfection was apparent and he wasn't satisfied with what I'd already told him. I got exasperated and slipped a 'her' into my response."

"So?" Lizzie inquired, instantly relieved. She loves the man, but he could stand to ease up on the drama.

"Denny's quite relentless. It's what makes him such a good lawyer. 'Tenacious' hardly begins to describe him."

Lizzie smiled and lamented that Red couldn't see it. She was well-aware of her power over him.

"He sounds like me!" She laughed, and it was music to his ears. "I can see why you like him so much."

Red brought the tumbler to his lips and took a very relieved gulp from it. This wasn't going terribly, so far.

"I'll have to tell him about us." He paused and waited for the other shoe to drop.

"Red, ease up on yourself! You trust Denny, don't you? And we're going public soon anyway, right?" Seriously, what does he expect Denny to do, hold a press conference? Write a letter to Cooper?

"Yes. Yes, we are." He sighed. "So how much can I say?"

"Red, you can tell him anything. You can tell him everything." She paused. "Just.. leave out the details of our sex life, if you could. From what you've told me about Denny, I wouldn't be surprised if he asks."

Red nodded. "Oh, he will." He laughed. "Especially when he finds out about our age difference."

She smiled. That was something other people would probably care about. It never bothered her.

Red thought it was a good time to change the subject. "How was your ride today?"

"Wonderful! The private lessons have really paid off. Thank you again, by the way. I do worry sometimes that Hudson's too much horse for me, especially since he's so green. He should have a stronger rider. He deserves that." It still felt a little strange admitting her insecurities to him, but she was working on it.

"Sweetheart, you'd been out of the saddle for a long time. I wouldn't forgive myself if you got hurt, especially if I could have prevented it. I acted rashly when I bought him for you, but I'd never take him away."

Lizzie was used to that, by now. It was a tremendous point of contention between them for years. She was accustomed to fighting her own battles, carrying her own weight, and looking over her own shoulder. When Red suddenly showed up and started doing things like this for her, she seriously questioned his motives. Once she finally understood, she still resented it. Her resentment was the hardest thing to overcome. Red had worked long and hard for her to give him her heart. She had his long before she even knew it.

"You know that Sam would be so proud." It was bittersweet to mention Lizzie's adoptive father, and Red's oldest friend, but it felt right. Sometimes, she needed to be reminded of how proud Sam would be.

"Yes." She agreed. "I suppose he would."

A moment of mutually-contemplative silence passed between them. It was Lizzie who broke it.

"Hey, Red, you should try to squeeze a nap in before you go out with Denny tonight. If I know you, you haven't slept since you left."

He chuckled. Indeed, she knew him well. Red tried to make light of her concern. "That was just a lucky guess, but I suppose I should acquiesce to your suggestion. A nap sounds nice. I sleep much better with you."

"I know. Me too. Enjoy your dinner with Denny and relax. Call me tomorrow sometime. I love you."

"I will, and I love you too. Goodbye."

"Bye, Red."

Red stared at the phone in wonder and shook his head. She knew him a little too well, and that realization always came as a surprise.

He stripped down to his boxers, eyeing his imperfect reflection in the mirror, and crawled into bed, pulling the blanket up to his chin. He closed his eyes, trying to imagine her lying there beside him. He dared not turn on his side, for he'd be confronted by the cool sheets-unimpeachable proof that she wasn't.


	6. Chapter 6

Red couldn't sleep, but he forced himself to lay still, to at least rest his body (if not his mind) for the few hours before he needed to get dressed for dinner. There was something off about Denny, and he couldn't quite place it. Red had been so preoccupied with his blunder about Lizzie that he hadn't yet processed Denny's strangeness until he had things squared away with her. Even after ruminating over the entire conversation with Denny, and replaying it in his mind several times, he still couldn't quite put his finger on it.

There was a distant sadness in Denny's eyes, or perhaps a vacancy. The more Red thought about it, the more familiar it looked. It was a lot like his own, when he thinks about Jenny, and has to continue "playing normal" for one reason or another. Dembe and Lizzie could usually tell. They never say anything, but he notices how they'd get a little uneasy, and start acting a little too nice.

Briefly he considered withholding information about Lizzie until Denny tells him what's wrong, but a good friend wouldn't do that. Red may not have had many good friends, but he still knew how to be one. Not only that, but since Red was preparing to rejoin law-abiding society, he expected to see much more of Denny. It would no longer compromise Denny's career for him to do so.

By the time he got up to get ready for dinner, Red had decided that he wouldn't even ask. Whatever it is, there's plenty of time to figure it out. Denny will talk when he's ready.

They were two drinks in and still working on their appetizers when Denny went in for the kill, zeroing in on Red's love life.

"You've talked to her, haven't you, Raymond? Tell me about her."

Red made a show of heaving a heavy sigh, feigning exasperation.

Denny lifted his glass and leaned forward, wordlessly staring Red down like a witness for opposing council. His eyes seemed to hold this warning: Commit purgary, and you'll be sorry.

"Her name is Elizabeth. She's a criminal profiler."

Denny grinned. "You're pulling my leg."

Red's grin mirrored Denny's, but he shook his head, laughing. "For the FBI."

"You dog!"

Red held his palms up, shrugging.

Denny began to piece it together. "So, you turned yourself in at J. Egar Hoover, and seduced an FBI profiler?"

"That's a rather succinct account of events."

"Huh... Wait. Was she the... the reason?"

"She was, largely. It wasn't, however, my intent to seduce her. I needed her. I still do, but for different, more obvious reasons."

"Well, I can see why you needed to keep it under wraps, and that ah, makes it more fun, anyway."

"It was at first. We've had some close calls. I think the secrecy is harder for Lizzie than it is for me, but she's become a skilled liar. It's served us well with the work we do, but still. That's my fault, and I don't feel very good about that."

The server appeared then with their entrées. Both men requested another scotch, and fell into a comfortable silence while they dug into their steaks.

Denny finished first. He set down his cutlery and pushed his plate aside.

Not missing a beat, Denny asked, "She goes by Lizzie?"

"No. Liz. I call her Lizzie."

"Raymond." Denny waggled his eyebrows, imploring. "Picture?"

"Fine, but I'm gonna need you to promise that you'll simmer your reaction."

"Ooo! She must be either super hot or totally butch. Either way, no promises, Raymond. Show me anyway. Denny Crane."

This time, Red's exasperated sigh was genuine. Just the same, he chose to comply with Denny's wishes.

He pulled out his wallet and removed a small, worn out photograph. It was taken on the day they moved Hudson into his new home. Lizzie was in the middle of brushing him when Red called her name from outside the stall. When she turned to face him, Lizzie's expression was nothing short of ethereal. His first thought was that if he could, he'd paint her just like that. Snapping a picture was the next best thing.

The colors were faded and corners were turned down from being handled frequently. He looks at it daily, and many times a day when they're apart.

Red slid the photo across the table.

Denny's only response was a strangled gasp.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

It took Denny just a little too long to find his voice. "Raymond, she's stunning!"

"I couldn't agree more." Red cocked a half-smile.

"Quite young."

Red adopted his best Captain Obvious tone to say, "You think?"

Denny was still clutching the photograph, staring at it intently.

"Her birthday is next week, actually," Red added, hoping to keep Denny from asking her age. This was getting awkward.

Denny gasped again, bringing the picture closer to his face.

"Would you like to see what I got her?" Red asked, reaching into his pocket.

Denny shook his head, eyes still locked on Lizzie.

Red was flummoxed. What's he doing? Looking for Waldo? Was this Denny's way of getting back at him for hitting on Shirley? Red canted his head, studying Denny's reaction.

The silence became deafening. The tension palpable. Red was silent, debating how long he should let it go on. He surreptitiously looked down at his Cartier watch and started counting.

After five minutes, he'd had enough. He gently tried to get Denny's attention. "Denny?"

No response.

Red tried again, increasing his volume. "Denny?"

Nothing. Was he was having a stroke?

Red reached across the table and gave Denny's forearm a gentle squeeze. "Denny? Are you okay?"

Slowly, Denny raised his eyes to meet Red's. And finally he spoke. "You said her birthday is next week?"

Yes. Last century! Red only nodded.

"She looks like.." Denny took a huge breath and let it out slowly. He was still holding the photo.

"Like what? WHO does she look like?"

"It's. She.. No. It's just a coincidence."

"Who, Denny?"

"Nevermind. Raymond, I should go. I've got a big trial tomorrow. Excuse me. Waiter! Check, please!"

"I already slipped the server my card. You weren't going to let me pay, were you?" Red chose to answer his own question. "No. So I took care of it."

Denny eyed him, cautiously. "Thank you, Ray. You didn't have to do that."

"No, I didn't. I don't see your point."

They both stood and pushed in their chairs. Red donned his slate-colored fedora. When Denny did an about-face, heading in the direction of the entrance, Red caught his elbow.

"Drinks on the patio, remember?"

"Sorry, Ray. Big trial tomorrow. Another time." He shook his arm, trying to free himself of Red's grasp.

But he's lying. Red was certain of it. Red tightened his grip and shook his head. "Patio."

He let go and made his way in the opposite direction without looking back, confident that Denny would follow. On his way out the back door, he stopped at the bar and ordered more drinks for them both.

When they were seated outside, Red decided to try again, but from a different angle.

"If you don't fully trust me, Denny, I understand. I've been out of your life for a long time. To say that we still need to catch up is an understatement. Just the same, whether or not you believe it, I am trustworthy. I'm also well-connected. They call me The Concierge of Crime for a reason. If there's anything in the world that can be done to help, I'll do it. Talk to me. I opened up to you, and you know that wasn't easy for me. Denny, you're my flamingo."

He paused, giving Denny a moment to think it over, before he pressed on.

"Who does Lizzie coincidentally look like?"

Denny downed his drink before answering, "My daughter."

"Elise?"

Denny finally looked at Red. "Anna."

Red rapidly blinked three times in succession, but he waited for Denny to elaborate.

When it became clear that he wouldn't, Red pressed further, "You have another daughter, and she looks like Lizzie? This morning, you said that you had 'just the one'". Red winced at his own words. Was it unfair to call him out like that?

Denny nodded slowly. "Her birthday is next week, too."

Red leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest, briefly chewing on his cheek. It was a delicate situation, but for now, he just had to keep asking the right questions. The next one was especially tough.

"Where is Anna?"

Denny's eyes again lifted to meet Red's, but this time they were rheumy with long-unshed tears.

"I don't know, Raymond. She may have died. That's the worst part."

"Tell me about her mother."

"It was the '80s. We were briefly docked in Norfolk, at the time. She and I weren't even dating. It was a drunken fling. I've had thousands, you know? Denny Crane. I should have seen it coming."

Red nodded. "Perhaps."

"She had a boyfriend, but he was away on business. It was never her intention to tell me about our baby. She wanted to raise our daughter with her boyfriend, letting him believe that he was her father. She contacted me a year after Anna was born, and only because she needed money. I offered a cashier's check, on the condition that I got to meet her first. I almost wish I hadn't. Letting her go... it was among the hardest things I've ever done." His voice was coming out strained.

"Take your time, Denny. Remember to breathe." Red was becoming increasingly concerned, and he was dying to hear more, but in this moment, his top priority was to reassure his friend.

Denny took a deep breath and continued, "Anyway, they moved around a lot, so whenever she was strapped for cash, she'd send me a recent photograph. That's how I knew where to send the money. She stopped sending them right around Anna's birthday."

"Which was... Wait. What's her D.O.B.?"

"April 29th, 1983." At this point, Denny's lawyering instincts kicked in. He began scrutinizing Red's reactions. Something was off. It seemed he was seeking confirmation about something. Denny wondered if he was getting it.

Red's eyes briefly widened on their own accord, belying his investment in the story.

Denny continued, "After six months of not getting any pictures, I got the help of one of the firm's contracted P.I. guys. It turns out that they had moved since I received that last photograph. Either she decided not to send one, or she never got a chance. The last sighting of her mother was at a methadone clinic. It was '89."

Red's breath hitched and he sat up straight.

"For awhile, I worried that I didn't even have a daughter, and that I'd been tricked into funding that woman's drug habit. She could have just borrowed or kidnapped a baby for me to meet that day. That would explain why she refused to allow me to see her again."

Red leaned back again, rubbing his hand over his closely-shorn hair.

"When my P.I. found their last address, he learned that the house had been torched, and supposedly a man and his daughter may have perished in the flames. It was arson. The powerful accelerent used would have been enough to fully obliterate a human being. It was unknown whether or not they were home when the fire started. However, because they just disappeared without a trace, they're presumed to have died."

Red chewed his inner cheeks nervously. Denny recognized the tell but kept going anyhow.

"Therefore, there was no death certificate. He interviewed the neighbors to gleam information about where they could/may/wanted to go, and if they had any known aliases. It was essentially fruitless. They were only known for being the quiet types. They kept to themselves. And SO, the trail ran cold. The P.I. got nothing. No obituary, even. She just... disappeared."

Finally, Red spoke. "Denny, I'm not trying to undermine your feelings with what I'm about to say. Let me make that clear. Do you understand?"

Denny cautiously nodded.

"May I see a picture of her? Do you carry one with you?"

Denny reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a picture, and slid it across the table to Red.

It was a picture of Lizzie on a swing set, and Red had killed the man pushing her.

Red could only gasp.

I struggled quite a bit with this chapter. All of these dialogs are difficult to pepper with eloquence or imagery, but that doesn't stop me from trying. I hope it isn't coming off as contrived. Please let me know what you think! Xxxxx


	8. Chapter 8

Okay, guys. I feel a bit guilty about the lapse in updates, especially because this long-awaited chapter is so skimpy. My intent was to write a nice, long chapter, but with great disappointment, I hit a wall and failed to scale it. As a result, this is only a small peek into Red's fast-talking mind. I wouldn't describe it as filler, since Red's thoughts actually inform what's to come, and why. That said, if you were to skip over this chapter entirely, you wouldn't be completely lost, but putting the pieces together wouldn't be easy.

As Red would say, so... shall we get started?

Disclaimer: I have zero affiliation with both The Blacklist and Boston Legal.

Chapter Eight

Red wasn't often at a loss for words, but then again, he wasn't often in a situation like this, either. In an effort to buy himself a moment to think it over, he excused himself to use the men's room. He promised Denny that he would return with another round of scotch, knowing it would buy a little more time.

Red's mind raced to weigh his options.

He could change the subject, then call Lizzie to break the news. "Turns out, Tom was right. Your biological father is alive. Actually, he's Denny. Will you fly out to Boston tomorrow for a paternity test, just to be sure?"

Eh.

He could also change the subject with Denny, then call Lizzie and try to convince her to fly in without saying why. That seemed a little back-handed. Red didn't want her to feel manipulated. Would it be better if he admitted that he had something serious to discuss, but would prefer to do it in person? She'd want to know why he couldn't just tell her when he came home. How would be respond to that? Beg her to trust him, and promise that she would soon understand his reasons? That approach would likely stir up unwelcome memories of their early interactions.

Red certainly didn't want that.

On the other hand, he could first divulge the news to Denny, and then call Lizzie after. But what if he's wrong? What if the girl in the photograph wasn't Lizzie? It wasn't inconceivable that Lizzie could have an unknown half-sister. It would be unconscionable to get Denny's hopes up only to shatter them.

That would destroy him.

There was also one entirely different approach. Red could quietly gather the necessary DNA evidence, and then order an expedited paternity test. If they match, he'll tell them. If they don't, no one needs to know. No harm, no foul.

Yes. That appeared to be the safest route. Resuming a normal conversation with Denny would be no easy feat. Red could only hope that he was up for it.


End file.
